Clockwork Heart
by angel eyes1 uk
Summary: A brief glimpse into Will's POV during some of my favourite moments in Clockwork Angel. It's Will, so it will be mature themed. Not a complete retelling, I will jump from one favourite scene to the next unapologetically! SORRY, NO LONGER BEING CONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1 Hell is Cold

**Clockwork Heart**

**By Leanne Golightly**

I do not own the Infernal Devices series or any of its characters. This is just for fun. Everything shadowhunter belongs to the talented Cassandra Clare. No copyright infringement intended.

**This is just a brief glimpse of what I think Will was thinking during some of my favourite parts of Clockwork Angel, and is by no means a complete retelling—I will skip sections rather than repeat. This is more of a complimentary fanfic, to be read in conjunction with the appropriate sections of CA.**

_1. Hell is Cold_

When I'd envisioned the downworlder brothel ran by the Dark Sisters, I'd certainly had something a little more...occupied in mind. Not that I was complaining, of course. I wasn't here for recreational purposes, and I'd never imagined for a second, after what I'd heard, that the establishment would suit me.

No, today I was breaking and entering in the hope that I could find something that would tie the two warlocks from the Pandemonium Club to a number of vicious rumours regarding the sale of dead bodies. The idea was to sneak in and back out without anyone ever knowing I had been there—after all, trespassing wasn't looked on kindly by the Clave.

Not that breaking a few rules ever bothered me—in fact, I preferred using shady methods. It made things much more...interesting.

I opened a room and squinting in the dark, I found a chambered decked out in white, with a white wedding dress hanging in the corner. Hell, I guessed that it was true that this place catered to some strange fetishes.

I tried another room, this time finding that it was stripped completely bare. I closed the door silently and moved onto the next, finding the door locked with the key still in the lock from the outside.

Bingo.

Stepping through the door tentatively, a moving shape to the left caught my attention. Darting away, I wasn't quite quick enough, and some kind of jug shattered against my forearm.

It hurt—although, I found a much more colourful way to express my displeasure aloud.

The shape bolted for the door, which had closed behind me, and now rattled the door knob in an attempt to leave. In order to get a closer look at the creature which had attacked me, I raised my witchlight.

It was a girl. _She_ was a girl. Screwing her face up in the sudden brightness, I saw that her dress was black, stained down the front with something that looked like blood. At first I thought she might be one of the night children, with her attire, pale skin, and vicious expression; when her face relaxed and I saw her wide grey eyes, soft brown hair flowing loose, and the rapid movements of her chest that indicated panicked breathing, I realised that she was human.

For a short while, we both paused, and her eyes darted up and down as she also assessed me. After a few moments, the customary parting of lips and staring began. Yes, she was definitely a human girl—she'd passed the test. Damn my devilish good looks!

"You cut me. It might be fatal," I said. Maybe this brothel was more to my tastes than I'd first realised. I had very little money on me; maybe a little guilt would help me get one on the house.

Rather than rushing to fuss over me, the girl remained still. "Are you the Magister?" she asked firmly.

Angling my hand so the wound the porcelain had caused bled more dramatically, I gave it one last go. "Dear me, massive blood loss. Death could be imminent."

"_Are you the Magister_?"

She was an insistent little thing...although, by female standards she was rather tall, and not little at all. Her eyes glinted fiercely.

"The Magister? That means 'master' in Latin, doesn't it?"

She blinked and the look in her eyes faded to confusion. "I...I suppose it does." I detected a hint of an accent in the way she drawled her vowels. Was she American?

"I've mastered many things in my life. Navigating the streets of London, dancing the quadrille, the Japanese art of flower arranging, lying at charades, concealing a highly intoxicated state, delighting young women with my charms. Alas, no one has ever actually referred to me as 'the master,' or 'the magister,' either. More's the pity..."

"Are you highly intoxicated at the moment?" she interrupted.

I found her bluntness amusing. "How very direct, but I suppose all you Americans are, aren't you?" She looked surprised, as if her nationality wasn't obvious. "Yes, your accent gives you away. What's your name, then?"

Her brow furrowed. "What's _my_ name?"

Too easy. "Don't you know it?" My natural sarcasm came to the fore.

"You—you've come bursting into my room, scared me nearly to death, and now you demand to know my name?" she snapped angrily. "What on earth's _your _name? And who are you, anyway?"

If I'd known Americans were this unfriendly, I'd have put it on my list of places not to visit much sooner. "My name is Herondale. William Herondale, but everyone calls me Will." I glanced around the room for something that would give me any indication of why this girl was here, and for what purpose. The room seemed very impersonal, even sparser than the unused rooms at the institute, and far less well kept.

"Is this your room? Not very nice, is it?" I took a closer look and found a few novels by the bed, but then did a double take as I saw the knotted ropes attached to the bed posts. Oh. So that was how it was. I guessed, being in a brothel, I shouldn't have been so surprised to find a prostitute, but this girl didn't seem the type. "Do you often sleep tied to the bed?"

She blushed and looked away. She was quite pretty with a bit of colour in her face. Prostitutes didn't blush in my experience. No, she must be a captive here. Shame.

I made my plans to escape, but a door slamming elsewhere in the building made the situation much more urgent. There was no escaping out of the window, and it seemed like the building was about to get much more occupied than I would have liked. We'd have to take our chances on finding a back way out.

"Come along..." I paused, realising I still didn't know her name.

"Miss Gray," she whispered. "Miss Theresa Gray."

~X~

Pursued through the humid darkness, I dragged Miss Gray behind me. The voices of the Dark Sisters calling her name taunted me as the building suddenly became a maze. I inadvertently led us into a corridor with no other exit than a pair of tall metal doors. Now we were closer to ground level, I hoped that inside we'd find a window.

Hurling myself against the entrance, it swung open and I stumbled forward with the momentum. The girl struggled to close them behind us, but she did. I quickly put the bolt in place, though it looked far from sturdy. It would take more than these doors to keep out a pair of warlocks, and...

Looking down, I realised that in bolting the door, I had pinned Miss Gray against it, and my body was pressed against hers. In her eyes, I could tell that I wasn't the only one to have had that realisation.

"Miss Gray?"

Her pupils were dilated as her eyes dropped from mine to neck level. For a moment, I forgot my urgency and where I was. I was alone in the dark, in a house of disrepute, and dangerously close to a pretty young girl.

"Where are we? Are we safe?"

For a brief second, I wondered about the meaning behind her words, but then realised that we were not yet free of the clutches of the Dark Sisters.

Turning away, the contents of the room soon snapped me out of my temporary haze. It was like Frankenstein's laboratory, with human bodies strewn on tables and all manner of strange contraptions about.

Breaking a window, I called for Henry, but the warlocks burst in a blaze of blue sparks, obviously delighted that they had us cornered.

"Little Miss Gray, you ought to know better than to run. We told you what would happen if you ran again..."

"Then do it! Whip me bloody. Kill me. I don't care!" Miss Gray yelled in reply. "I won't let you give me to the Magister! I'd rather die!"

As stunned as the Dark Sisters, I stared at the human girl after her outburst. She didn't want to be taken alive—a girl after my own heart.

"What an unexpectedly sharp tongue you have, Miss Gray, my dear," said the shorter sister. "Perhaps if we cut it out of your head, you'd learn to mind your manners."

I leapt down from the table and took a defensive stance between the feisty damsel and the downworlders who threatened us, hoping Henry had heard my call. The Dark Sisters taunted me.

"...has she told you what she is? About her talent? What she can do?" the warlock revealed. Miss Gray had a talent? I tried to bluff and keep the Dark Sisters talking.

"If I were to venture a guess, I would say it had something to do with the Magister."

"You know of the Magister?" The taller sister eyed me dubiously, and then her gaze flickered over to Miss Gray. "Ah, I see. Only what she has told you. The Magister, little boy angel, is more dangerous than you could ever imagine. And he has waited a long time for someone with Tessa's ability. You might even say he is the one who caused her to be born—"

Henry came to the rescue in a dramatic shower of bricks and mortar. I pulled Miss Gray—Tessa—toward me, shielding her as best as I could.

As the dust settled, the shorter warlock attacked and I flung my seraph blade in her direction, which pierced her chest with such flair it was certain that I could never repeat it. I could not help but be impressed with my own handiwork. Why did I always strike the perfect blow when Jem wasn't there to see?

Needing someone to witness my moment of glory, I turned and gave Tessa a satisfied grin. She stared at me with a strange look in her eyes—not the admiration I was expecting. What _was_ she thinking? She almost looked as if she disapproved.

What did I care if a complete stranger didn't recognise an act of extreme skill and precision when they saw it? I didn't care—at all. By the sounds of it, she wasn't as human as she seemed anyway.

What _was_ she?

Miss Gray backed away, as Henry and Thomas joined us, Mrs Dark holding them at bay with the energy bolts from her hands.

"Will! Will, she bit me!" Henry yelled as we he tried to protect the not quite human girl.

"It's bad form to bite. Rude, you know. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?" I chided Miss Gray with mock seriousness.

"It's also rude to go about grabbing at ladies you haven't been introduced to. Hasn't anyone told you _that_?" Her eyes flashed at me again.

She hadn't reminded me of that earlier, when I'd pinned her against the door, I noted with some satisfaction. Somehow, it seemed less of a victory now that I knew she wasn't just a girl.

Thomas yelled in warning as a piece of machinery flew across the room. The squat Dark Sister wasn't quite as dead as I'd hoped. She pounced, knocking Henry to the floor. Instinctively, I grabbed a new blade, named it, and neatly beheaded her.

The remaining sister was far from impressed with my actions, and with a roar, she attacked with renewed fire. Diverting the sparks with my blade, I reminded Henry that a retreat would work quite well right about now.

A bolt got by me, and I could only look on in horror as Miss Gray went flying through the air and painfully struck the wall. She crumpled into a pile of dark fabric and brown hair on the floor, and Thomas rushed over to her.

When I swung back round, all I could hear was the sound of Mrs Dark's retreating laughter. She was gone.


	2. Chapter 2 The Institute

**Clockwork Heart**

**By Leanne Golightly**

**I do not own the Infernal Devices series or any of its characters. This is just for fun. Everything shadowhunter belongs to the talented Cassandra Clare. No copyright infringement intended.**

_2. The Institute_

When we got back to the Institute, Thomas had taken Miss Gray upstairs, and Charlotte proceeded to interrogate us all over what had happened. I got a well-earned break from the Spanish Inquisition when Charlotte arranged an investigation of the Dark Sister's house. She also sent a request for Brother Enoch to visit, and I made myself scarce by visiting Jem—I never was one for allowing people to poke through my mind. There were things in dark corners that I preferred no one other than myself saw.

Jem had taken a slight interest in the story of my evening, but in his weakened state, he did not ask questions; because of this, I probably gave him a more complete version than what I'd given to our illustrious leader. I certainly gave a fuller description of Tessa, although Jem didn't want to muse with me over where her devil's mark was concealed—if she was a warlock as I suspected. I had a few ideas, though I doubted I'd get the opportunity to check.

It turned out that she had conveniently documented her stay in the form of letters unimaginatively hidden underneath her mattress. Charlotte read them eagerly—apparently, Tessa had believed her parents and herself human, and there was a brother involved in all this somewhere.

It seemed that Miss Gray had undergone a few trials—not that it impressed me. No one could trump the things that I'd seen and done in my time—well, except Jem, but we all knew about that and saw the effects it had on him on a daily basis.

Both my only friend and I had been changed by our past experiences—I might not be bleached of colour for all to see, but I'd been painted with black on the inside. I kept my darkness hidden; some things were easier to bear on your own.

On the upside, at least I had my health. That was something to be thankful for.

Reluctantly leaving Jem in his bed, I headed down for dinner. Part of me wanted to avoid it, but with the rumblings in my stomach and curiosity about our temporary lodger, I went downstairs.

Jessamine, who was already there waiting, was her usual vacuous and unpleasant self as she pressed me for information about Tessa. By letting slip how pretty the warlock was, I completed my task of irritating Jessamine to the point of being sent to Coventry in record time—I would be sure to use that tactic again.

Enjoying the silence, I looked up when Charlotte entered with Tessa in tow.

The black and bloody monstrosity Miss Gray had been wearing last time I'd seen her was gone...and replaced with something rather spectacular. Obviously a little on the tight side, it clung to her figure particularly nicely. If she had been any fuller in the bust department, Tessa would have definitely fit the part of Downworlder prostitute.

"Will, you remember Miss Gray?" Charlotte asked seriously.

I smiled widely as I replied, "My recollection of her is most vivid indeed." I had the feeling that she would be even more memorable wearing red. Her cheeks took on a shade that matched her dress.

"And Jessamine—Jessie, do look up. Jessie, this is Miss Theresa Gray; Miss Gray, this is Miss Jessamine Lovelace."

"So pleased to make your acquaintance." Jessamine replied, and then gave me a scowl. That dress had certainly amplified her irritation, and I mentally tipped my hat to the warlock for making my efforts so much more successful.

Tessa sat opposite me, and her figure distracted me from Jessamine and Charlotte's nattering. Once I'd gotten bored of stealing glances at the red dress, Agatha ambled in and distracted me with her delights instead. No one cooked like Agatha.

"You know, I don't believe I've ever seen a warlock eat before." Jessamine said with interest. "I suppose you needn't ever bant, do you? You can just use magic to make yourself slender."

I rolled my eyes at her superficiality. "We don't know for certain that she's a warlock, Jessie." I'd certainly ruled out any devil's marks above the waist, that was for sure—there just wasn't room in that tight dress...unless it was very, very small. Blue nipples, perhaps?

"Is it dreadful, being so evil? Are you worried you'll go to Hell? What do you think the Devil's _like_?"

Tessa stopped eating and put her fork down slowly. With a straight face, she said, "Would you like to meet him? I could summon him up in a trice if you like. Being a warlock, and all."

I roared with laughter. This was turning out to be the most entertaining meal time I'd had in a long while.

The show continued when Henry burst through the door—his jacket alight and him entirely oblivious to the fact. Once my skills as a fireman had been successfully demonstrated, an unburned and unharmed Henry joined us at the table.

"I know you. You bit me!" he exclaimed, as he recognised Tessa. His statement turned my mind back to the evening, and I decided that maybe it was time for Miss Gray to be interrogated.

"Have you asked Miss Gray about the Pandemonium Club yet?" I asked.

There was a flicker of recognition in Tessa's face. "I know the words. They were written on the side of Mrs Dark's carriage."

We mused a little about the connection between the club and the disappearances I'd been investigating. Which naturally led me onto what I'd discovered about the Dark house itself.

"The house in which they kept Tessa, I had been told, was a Downworlder brothel catering to mundanes with unusual tastes."

Charlotte shot me a glance. "Will, I'm not at all sure—"

"Hmph, no wonder you were so keen to go there, William," Jessamine interrupted.

Looking at Miss Gray's reaction, her cheeks flushed again. "Have I offended you, Miss Gray? I imagined that after all you've seen, you would not be easily shocked."

"I am not offended, Mr Herondale. I, ah, don't see how it could have been a...place like that." Definitely not a prostitute—the blushes and the bashfulness were testament to that. "No one ever came or went, and other than the maidservant and the coachman, I never saw anyone else who lived there."

"No," I agreed, "by the time I got there, it was quite deserted. Clearly they had decided to suspend business, perhaps in the interests of keeping you isolated."

That brought us onto the subject of what exactly it was that Tessa could do.

"What _is_ your ability? Charlotte won't say." Jessamine asked with all her usual decorum, and ignored Charlotte's scowl. "I don't believe she has one. I think she's simply a little sneak who knows that if we believe she's a Downworlder, we'll have to treat her well because of the Accords."

For a moment, I saw anger flash in Miss Gray's eyes as we all stared in her direction.

Knowing how awkward it felt to be subject to the Spanish Inquisition, I leaned forward and spoke gently. "You can keep it a secret, but secrets have their own weight, and it can be a very heavy one." This I already knew from the crushing heaviness of my own hidden truths.

Tessa looked indignant. "It needn't be a secret, but it would be easier for me to show you than to tell you."

She asked Jessamine's for one of her many rings, and after a moment of complaint, she was given one. Tessa went quiet as she closed the ring in her hand and shut her eyes. Motionless, she sat there, and while nothing happened, I grew bored and decided to take a drink. The glass never made it to my mouth.

Suddenly, Tessa's frame shrank into the dress, which now fit as it should, and her brown hair became blonde and broke free of its fastenings. Tessa's features melted away to become Jessamine's. Opening her eyes, they were an exact facsimile, too.

I could say nothing.

Tessa was gone, and there were now _two_ Jessamines in the room—I expected to wake up screaming any moment and find out that it was all a horrible nightmare. Well, other than the red dress; that part had been quite pleasant.

After a short while, Tessa changed back, and the Inquisition began afresh.

Apparently, she needed to be holding something that belonged to the person for it to work. My mind immediately flashed to the vial of blood I kept hidden...and Cecily. Then I put it out of my mind—I wanted to apologise, but I still knew that Tessa as Cecily would not be the same as speaking to Cecily herself.

I forgot the idea completely when Tessa revealed that she could see the person's mind, including the moments leading up to their death if they had died. There was no way I'd ever let her become Cecily now; if she ever saw _that_...I couldn't bear to think.

Automatically, Cecily's final moments played in my mind—I abruptly stopped the memory in its tracks by returning to the conversation that was going on around me.

It seemed that the dead girl in the alley that Jem had found was connected to the Dark Sisters, and Tessa was able to shed some light on her final moments.

She turned her attention on me and snapped me out of my distraction. "You found me because you were looking for the murderer of Emma Bayliss, but she was only one dead human girl. One dead—what do you call it?—mundane. Why so much time and effort to find out what happened to her?"

At first, all I heard was "_murderer...dead human girl...mundane_," but then, as I registered her question, I answered and explained my interest in Emma Bayliss, and came back to the present and the Pandemonium Club issue.

"The Dark Sisters never mentioned what use they intended to make of your abilities, did they?" Charlotte asked.

"You know about the Magister. They said they were preparing me for him."

"For him to do what?" I asked. "Eat you for dinner?" Or maybe something a little more debauched?

Shaking her head, she replied with an equally shaky voice. "To—to marry me, they said."

Jessamine scoffed. "To marry you? That's ridiculous. They were probably going to blood sacrifice you and didn't want you to panic."

"I don't know about that. I looked in several rooms before I found Tessa. I remember one that was done up surprisingly like a wedding chamber. White hangings on an enormous bed. A white dress hanging in the wardrobe. It looked about your size." It all made sense to me now.

Were the Pandemonium Club and the Magister related?

Before now, we'd only found its members doing the same things other clubs of its kind did—and they were generally things that only harmed themselves rather than others. In my opinion, if they were foolish enough to take risks when they didn't fully understand the consequences, then they got what they deserved. When innocents got involved, that was a different matter.

_Cecily_.

I buried the thought again quickly. Instead, I thought back to my previous uninvited appearances to the club, listing the Downworlders I'd recognised. De Quincy had been there, and he liked to put on a show for the mundanes. Certainly, he'd done wonders for the seductive image of the Night Children. I couldn't fault him for that, if he could get away with it.

I couldn't fault the Magister, whoever he was, for wanting a shape shifter wife—I could see the advantages of having a wife that could be a different woman every night. Variety was the spice of life, so they said.


	3. Chapter 3 We Are Shadows

**Clockwork Heart**

**By Leanne Golightly**

**I do not own the Infernal Devices series or any of its characters. This is just for fun. Everything shadowhunter belongs to the talented Cassandra Clare. No copyright infringement intended.**

_3. We Are Shadows_

After dinner, I decided to head down to the armoury, with a slight detour via the kitchen to see what delights Agatha was preparing for tomorrow as I was feeling a little peckish. As I made my way to my first port of call, I saw the torches down a corridor to my left flare up and fade.

Deciding to investigate, I was surprised to find Miss Gray standing there, her hand on her mouth and looking confused.

Leaning back against the wall, I waited for her to notice me, which she didn't. For a downworlder, she didn't really have a very good sense of self preservation—it would have been almost possible to believe that she was just a regular mundane, had I not witnessed what happened in the dining room.

Growing bored of waiting, I finally asked, "Lost?"

Miss Gray started and turned to look at me, the look of shock on her face melting into recognition. It was amusing.

"You should let me show you around the Institute a bit, Miss Gray. You know, so you don't get lost again." I could do with the sport. Miss Gray narrowed her eyes in my direction—it seemed she knew my game. "Of course, you can simple continue wandering about on your own, if you really wish to."

I made up a story about doors that opened onto trapped demons, open air, or rooms with weapons with minds of their own.

"I don't believe you. You're an awful liar, Mr Herondale. Still—" She looked thoughtful. "I don't like wandering about. You can show me around if you promise no tricks."

Smiling, I promised with my fingers crossed behind my back. It had been a while since there was anyone around here worth teasing—Jessie was too much of a brat; Charlotte, Henry, and Thomas were too busy; Agatha's revenge wasn't worth risking; Sophie already thoroughly detested me, and Jem was far too delicate. Miss Gray was fresh blood, and I'd enjoy testing her boundaries.

First things first, I at least gave her the serious tour, and completed my kitchen raid as planned, liberating a number of Agatha's chocolate tarts.

If I'd ever doubted that Miss Gray was part demon, it was proved when she shockingly admitted that she hated chocolate. I wondered whether such a travesty counted as a mark.

We eventually got to the weapons room, where Thomas was busying himself polishing daggers. Miss Gray seemed pleased to see him, and it turned out she'd thought he was a shadowhunter. I noticed Miss Gray's eyes take in Thomas' size and build, and I toyed over whether to break the moment and point out that size was no substitution for skill and natural ability. Instead, I asked if there was any word on the misericord blades we were expecting.

Thomas was a nice kind of fellow, but he wasn't a shadowhunter. Not that I should be bothered by the way Miss Gray was obviously impressed by his physique—after all, Miss Gray wasn't a shadowhunter either. She wasn't even a mundane.

Her attention diverted elsewhere—onto the Pyxis—a box made of polished wood. I explained that it was where we could store demon energies. She took particular interest in the _ouroboros_ that decorated the front, which reminded us of the double headed snake symbol that the Dark Sisters used.

Then she took a step forward in its direction.

"Oh, no you don't." I put myself between her and the box.

For a second I was taken back years earlier, but this time, in my mind, I was daring someone to touch a similar box. I was a child and a mundane friend had come around to play. We'd found our way into the basement and were playing with the strange items we'd discovered.

I wasn't a stranger to my shadowhunter heritage, but it didn't hold any major fascination for me. I'd been asked whether I wanted to leave my family and begin my training and had said no. I loved my mundane life.

My mother and father had warned me not to play with the Pyxis.

This particular day, a carefree, playful Will Herondale had dared his friend Cecily to touch it, just to see what had happened. The memories came flooding back—the screaming, the darkness, and the first time I saw and heard a demon. Then it possessed Cecily, and I lashed out with the first thing that had come to hand.

By the time mother had heard us and come to our aid. It was too late, and I stood there with the bloody weapon in my hand.

Cecily. The shame and regret began to take hold, and I needed to do something, anything, to put it out of my mind.

"The Pyxis can't be touched by anyone who isn't a shadowhunter. Nasty things will happen. Now let's go. We've taken up enough of Thomas's time." I quickly exited the room and Miss Gray followed.

Thankfully, Miss Gray wasn't inclined to leave me alone with my thoughts for very long, and she quickly distracted me, asking me about the mundanes who worked in the institute. I made a beeline for the library, remembering the books that I'd found in her room at the Dark Sisters' house.

As Miss Gray walked inside, her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. She walked over to a large open book and ran her fingers over it almost reverently.

"This is the Great Library. Every Institute has a library, but this one is the largest of them all—the largest in the West, at any rate." Trying to keep the despair at bay, I forced myself to keep it light. "I said I would get you more books, didn't I?"

She turned and looked at me in shock, as if she wanted to say something but wasn't sure what. When she did, it wasn't the "thank you" I was expecting, but there again, Miss Gray always seemed to find a way to surprise me.

"But the books are all behind bars! Like a literary sort of prison!"

Her shocked reaction gave me a grin. "Some of these books are dangerous. It's wise to be careful."

Miss Gray's face grew serious. "One must always be careful of books and what is inside them, for words have the power to change us."

I almost laughed out loud. Her bizarre love of books was at least amusing, and I was definitely in need of something to take my mind off darker subjects.

"I'm not sure a book has ever changed me. Well, there is one volume that promises to teach one how to turn oneself into an entire flock of sheep—"

"Only the very weak-minded refuse to be influenced by literature and poetry." Miss Gray tried to keep the conversation sensible; I chose to ignore the hint.

"—Of course, why one would want to be an entire flock of sheep is another matter entirely." I smiled in her direction. "Is there something you want to read here, Miss Gray, or is there not? Name it, and I shall attempt to free it from its prison for you."

She reeled off the names of a number of novels, which I knew we did not have. Our fiction section was very limited. I did remember one, which I had read not long after arriving at the Institute; it had helped me developed my ridiculous side as a means of coping with what had happened.

"I think we may have a copy of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ about somewhere."

The suggestion did not go down well. "Oh, that's for little children, isn't it? I never liked it much—seemed like so much nonsense."

I looked in her direction. Of course, she'd read it already. It obviously didn't have the same meaning for her as it had for me.

"There's plenty of sense in nonsense sometimes, if you wish to look for it."

By then, Miss Gray had found something of interest, and her delighted squeal kept the memories of Cecily at bay a while longer. I admitted that I had read some Dickens in my time.

After a while, it was obvious that Miss Gray would have to settle for some non-fictional reading material, and just the thing came to mind. Dashing up some ladders to where I knew the Shadowhunter Codex was kept. I purposefully dropped it, smirking at Tessa's panicked face as she rushed to stop it hitting the floor.

I was going to have some fun with Miss Gray's fixation with books that was for certain.

"What is this?"

"I'd assumed you'd have questions about Shadowhunters, given that you're currently inhabiting our sanctum sanctorum, so to speak. That book ought to tell you anything you want to know—about us, about our history, even about Downworlders like you."

I decided that now was as good a time as any to tease her.

"Be careful with it, though. Its six-hundred-years-old and the only copy of its kind. Losing or damaging it is punishable by death under the Law."

Miss Gray's reaction was instantaneous, and she pushed it away as if she'd been informed you could catch Demon Pox just by touching it.

"You can't be serious."

I jumped down, highly amused. "You're right, I'm not." I regarded her with interest. "You do believe everything I say, though, don't you? Do I seem unusually trustworthy to you, or are you just a naïve sort?"

Miss Gray scowled and took the book over to a seat by the window. I followed and watched her read. The opening pages had the usual illustration of the Angel and the Mortal Instruments.

"That's how it all began. A summoning spell here, a bit of angel blood there, and you've a recipe for indestructible human warriors. You'll never understand us from reading a book, mind you, but it's a start."

Some of us required more effort to understand than others.

I looked out of the window and remembered someone else who was far too trusting and naïve. Being a shadowhunter, if it had been me that touched the box, we'd all be safe and well, but that wasn't the way it had worked out.

That was why I'd forced myself into the life that my parents had left behind. It had been the only way to never face that look on my parents' faces again. The only way to never have to see Cecily's family and know that it was my fault her life had been cut short.

I had no problem with being a shadowhunter—the blood in my veins had guaranteed me a place to live and food in my belly, which was a blessing of sorts, and the lifestyle gave me a suitably violent outlet for my frustrations. It was how and why I ended up here that destroyed me.

"_Pulvis et umbra sumus_. It's a line from Horace. '_We are dust and shadows_.' Appropriate, don't you think? It's not a long life, killing demons; one tends to die young, and then they burn your body—dust to dust, in the literal sense. And then we vanish into the shadows of history, nary a mark on the page of a mundane book to remind the world that once we existed at all."

It was some kind of comfort to know that I wouldn't have to live with the guilt of growing to a ripe old age—having the life that I'd denied Cecily.

Tessa looked at me—that look where you know that the person is trying to understand you.

Her voice was warm and sympathetic when she spoke, so I knew she had no idea. "Don't you ever worry that what's out there might come in here?"

"Demons and other unpleasantness, you mean?" Her question struck a little too close to where my mind had been. "The mortar that made these stones was mixed with the blood of Shadowhunters. Every beam is carved of rowan wood. Every nail used to hammer the beams together is made of silver, iron, or electrum. The place is built on hallowed ground surrounded by wards. The front door can be opened only by one possessing Shadowhunter blood; otherwise it remains locked forever. This place is a fortress. So no, I am not worried."

The scariest things in the Institute were the things that festered inside the waifs and strays that came to live here—Jessie, Jem, Sophie, and myself.

"But why live in a fortress? You clearly aren't related to Charlotte and Henry, they're hardly old enough to have adopted you, and not all Shadowhunter children must live here or there would be more than you and Jessamine—"

"And Jem"

"Yes, but—you see what I mean. Why don't you live with your family?"

Miss Gray's remarks were getting closer to my sore points, and I hoped she'd meander off topic soon.

"None of us _have_ parents. Jessamine's died in a fire, Jem's—well Jem came from quite a distance away to live here, after his parents were murdered by demons. Under Covenant Law, the Clave is responsible for parentless Shadowhunter children under the age of eighteen."

"So, you are one another's family."

"If you must romanticize it, I suppose we are—all brothers and sisters under the Institute's roof. You as well, Miss Gray, however temporarily."

"In that case, I think I would prefer it if you called me by my Christian name, as you do with Miss Lovelace."

I stared at her, watching her face grow red and her look awkward. "Then you must do the same for me, Tessa."

Tessa's face was a picture—that unmistakeable melting in her eyes and her breath catching.

"Will."

"Yes?" So Miss Gray—pardon me, Tessa—was not immune to my charms. Very few girls were, but I wasn't used to it having an effect inside of the Institute.

Tessa looked embarrassed at having being caught by my spell, and hastily changed the subject—Shadowhunter training, the appropriateness of female Shadowhunters, her unfamiliarity with Queen Boadicea, and once again, books.

"I _adore_ Wilkie Collins," she squealed. "Oh—_Armadale_! And _The Woman in White_...are you laughing at me?"

"Not _at_ you, more _because_ of you." Tessa was providing me with excellent entertainment, and my earlier thoughts had all but disappeared from my conscious mind. "I've never seen anyone get so excited over books before. You'd think they were diamonds."

"Well, they are, aren't they? Isn't there anything you love like that? And don't say 'spats' or 'lawn tennis' or something silly."

"Good Lord, it's like she knows me already," I teased. It was nice to just feel normal for a while, and just have a conversation as if we were just two regular human beings.

"Everyone has something they can't live without. I'll find out what it is for you, never you fear..." The light amusement in her voice drifted away as her eyes met mine.

I was no stranger to female company, but there weren't many women who I actually enjoyed spending time with just for the fun of it. With Tessa, it just seemed to come naturally, our personalities bouncing off one another in exactly the right way.

She was attractive, too. I allowed my eyes to wander over her face, taking in her pretty grey eyes, down the elegant length of her neck, over the impressively tight bodice of the fetching red dress she was still wearing. My gaze returned to her face; her lips were parted and her cheeks were flushed. She must already know what I'm thinking, and by the appearance of it, she felt it, too.

But then, that was unsupportable. Miss Gray wasn't even human—she was a shapeshifter. It could be that she had purposefully chosen this form for its understated attractiveness. Heaven knows what her real shape might be like. Maybe that was why I couldn't find her demon's mark?

"It's late." I looked away. "I should show you back to your room."

"I—" Tessa's protest ended before it had even began. She clutched the book to her chest and followed me out into the corridor.

Trying not to look in her direction as the knowledge of her being a warlock sent my mind along the path of demons and innocent girls who would never have the opportunity to grow into a woman. Tessa was immortal and half-demon—the idea that I could be attracted to such a creature felt like a betrayal of Cecily. The pain threatened to take over me, and so I started speaking.

"There are a few tricks to learning your way around the Institute that I ought to teach you. Ways to identify the different doors and turn—"

I paused when we came across Sophie, her eyes darting between Tessa and me suspiciously. Sophie did not trust me—for her, I was too much like the son of her former employer in both looks and attitude. It was a great disservice she did me, as I would never have scarred a woman out of spite the way he had.

"Sophie! Have you finished putting my room in order yet?" I couldn't hold back the mischief in my voice, though I knew it wouldn't be received well. And it wasn't. Tessa seemed shocked at the way Sophie spoke back to me.

"What was that?"

"Sophie enjoys pretending she doesn't like me." In truth, it wasn't me that she didn't like. Sophie had never actually given me a chance. It would be nice to be given a little benefit of the doubt—after all, I was a very different person behind my public front.

"Doesn't like you? She hates you! Did—did something happen between you?"

"Tessa, enough." I sighed. "There are things you can't hope to understand."

"Well, not if you won't tell me. But then I'd have to say that it looks a great deal like she hates you because you did something awful to her."

The culmination of all the things whirring round my brain all came to the fore at once—Cecily, Tessa, Sophie—and the mood I'd been barely holding back descended.

"You can think what you like. It's not as if you know anything about me."

"I know you don't like giving straightforward answers to questions. I know you're probably around seventeen. I know you like Tennyson—you quoted him at the Dark House, and again just now. I know you're an orphan, as I am—"

Tessa didn't know when to drop a subject and let me be, and finally the darkness inside me spilled over.

"I never said I was an orphan, and I loathe poetry." My voice was harsh, and I didn't attempt to soften it. "So, as it happens, you really don't know anything about me at all, do you?"

I turned and walked away from Tessa, looking for a place to be alone and to lick my wounds.


	4. Chapter 4 The Shadowhunters Codex

**Clockwork Heart**

**By Leanne Golightly**

**I do not own the Infernal Devices series or any of its characters. This is just for fun. Everything shadowhunter belongs to the talented Cassandra Clare. No copyright infringement intended.**

_4. The Shadowhunter's Codex_

As shaken up as I was after my words with Tessa, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, so I put on my coat and boots and headed out the door. I hoped that no-one would stop me and ask why my eyes seemed unnaturally watery tonight—I couldn't blame the smog until I'd at least been outside for a short while.

At night, whenever memories of Cecily got the better of me and my emotions spilled over, I'd wander the streets of London on my own. I never had any particular destination in mind. Sometimes my subconscious would lead me in the direction of a tavern, or maybe even into the arms of a welcoming and uncomplicated young lady, but more often than not I just walked and enjoyed the solitude while I composed myself.

At times, the Institute was just too crowded—especially to a young man such as myself who could barely even stand his own company. And then there were the questions. Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why are you like this? What happened to make you want to run away from your parents to live the life they'd left behind?

Something told me that Miss Gray—sorry, Tessa—would only add to those questions. She was definitely the inquisitive sort. A small part of me felt guilty about snapping at her, but then she had backed me into a corner and I'd had to fight my way out.

Hopefully, it wouldn't take her long to learn to keep her banter on the superficial level and not dig too deeply on subjects people wanted to keep hidden—I had skeletons in my closet that would make a horrendous stink should they be aired.

I wouldn't be able to stay if my surrogate family found out about my past—I couldn't bear the look of horror, pity, and disappointment on their faces. The Institute was the closest thing I would ever have to a home, and for all that I tried to maintain the image of the devil-may-care loner, I didn't want to have to run away again.

After exhaling deeply and rubbing my eyes to try and alleviate the puffiness, I then dug my hands deeper in my coat pockets. London air could hardly be called fresh, but it was familiar, and that in itself was comforting. Tonight was one of those nights when I had no idea—conscious or otherwise—of where to go.

When I returned, if anyone asked, I would make up a tall tale. It was much easier than saying that I was upset and had taken a stroll to clear my mind. There would be fewer questions if they thought that I was doing something scandalous that they didn't want to hear the details of.

The only person who never pressed me for sensible answers was my _Parabatai_—my fighting partner, Jem. That was part of the reason that we were perfect together; he accepted me just as I was, and never questioned what had made me that way. As a result, I was more myself with him than I was with anyone else.

Jem's illness was also another reason for our closeness. When he first arrived at the Institute—after the demon Yanluo tortured him and his parents, leaving him addicted to demon poison—I felt a little like helping him made up for what I'd done to Cecily in some small way.

Not that I was any closer to saving Jem than I was able to save Cecily, but at least I didn't have to beat myself up over it. There was no known cure for Jem, and no way to break his addiction. Just to be around whenever I was needed—like whenever a demon or downworlder felt like speeding his end along—I was doing what I could, and that made me feel just a little better about myself.

Also, they said that opposites attracted, and that was exactly what we were. I was physically sound on the outside, but rotten and festering on the inside; Jem was often left weak due to his sickness, but when he wasn't under the influence of the poison, he was clear-headed and virtuous. His ailment was caused by his exposure to evil forces, where my torture could only be blamed on myself.

I'd treaded the cobbled roads of London enough, and tried to force the hurt over Cecily from the forefront of my mind enough for my eyes to dry. Once sure that I looked presentable, I turned and headed back to the Institute, letting myself inside.

First, I headed up to my room and tried to clear away the last of the demons from my mind and the tell-tale signs of tears on my face. I plunged my head into the water-filled porcelain bowl that I'd filled from the pitcher, and then shook myself like a dog.

Once I'd made sure that my face was dry and didn't look like I'd been crying, I decided that I would call on Jem and find out whether he had improved since I had seen him earlier in the evening. As I turned into the corridor leading his room, I heard voices.

"For swiftness, night vision, angelic power, to heal quickly—though their names are more complex than that, and not in English."

Jem's voice was then followed by Tessa's. "Do they hurt?"

There was a rustle of fabric. "They hurt when I received them. They don't hurt at all now." Oh, so he was showing Miss Gray his Marks. I wondered whether all Americans were this forward. "Now, don't tell me that's all the questions you have."

I snorted with the slightest hint of humor. At least it wasn't just me that Tessa was interrogating.

"Why can't you sleep?"

And it seemed that it wasn't just me that she asked difficult questions of, too. As Jem replied, I decided to rescue him from our newfound amateur Inquisitor.

"I have bad dreams."

"I was dreaming, too," Tessa said with a strange tone to her voice. "I dreamed about your music."

My eyebrows rose at how inappropriate that sounded as I turned the corner and propped myself up in the doorway. Jem grinned as his eyes quickly flicked to me and then back to Tessa.

"A nightmare, then?"

"No. It was lovely. The loveliest thing I've heard since I came to this horrible city."

Evidently, she'd never heard me singing in the bath.

"London isn't horrible. You simply have to get to know it. You must come with me out into London someday. I can show you the parts of it that are beautiful—that I love."

"Singing the praises of our fair city?" I decided that it was time to make Tessa aware of my presence. She turned quickly, and gave me a swift look up and down. "We treat you well here, don't we, James? I doubt I'd have that kind of luck in Shanghai. What do you call us there, again?"

"_Yang guizi_. Foreign devils."

Taking off my coat and joining them both in the room, I made my way over to the bed, making it look as laboured as possible and landing with a dramatic bounce.

"Your hair's wet. Where have you been?" So much for no questions from Jem, but at least they weren't difficult to answer.

"Here, there, and everywhere." Well, it was true.

He appeared to roll his eyes, but more in amusement than disapproval—unlike Tessa. "Boiled as an owl, are you? Where have you been? The Blue Dragon? The Mermaid?"

I'd been "attending" both of these places a little too often, so I opted for somewhere a little more out of the way. "The Devil Tavern, if you must know." I mock-sighed and grabbed one of the bed posts in pretence of needing some support. "I had such plans for this evening. The pursuit of blind drunkenness and wayward women was my goal, but alas, it was not to be. No sooner had I consumed my third drink in the Devil than I was accosted by a delightful small flower-selling child who asked me for two-pence for a daisy. The price seemed steep, so I refused. When I told the girl as much, she proceeded to rob me."

"A little girl robbed you?" Tessa didn't seem as shocked as I would have liked. My tale needed a little more color.

"Actually, she wasn't a little girl at all, as it turns out, but a midget in a dress with a penchant for violence, who goes by the name of Six-Fingered Nigel."

"Easy mistake to make." I smirked internally at Jem's deadpan reply.

"I caught him in the act of slipping his hand into my pocket. I couldn't let that stand, of course. A fight broke out almost immediately. I had the upper hand until Nigel leaped onto the bar and struck me from behind with a pitcher of gin."

"Ah, that does explain why your hair's wet."

"It was a fair fight, but the proprietor of the Devil didn't see it that way. Threw me out. I can't go back for a fortnight."

"Best thing for you." His voice was scolding but I noticed a slight lifting of Jem's mouth. Sometimes, I wondered whether he saw through the act and knew what it was that I really did. If he had the slightest inkling, then he didn't let on, and I preferred it that way. "Glad to hear it's business as usual, then. I was worried for a moment there that you'd come home early to see if I was feeling better."

"You seem to be doing perfectly well without me. In fact, I see you've met our resident shape-shifting mystery woman." My eyes briefly met hers. I didn't want my gaze to linger too long, lest I be reminded of our earlier conversation, so I opted for a swift insult.

"Do you normally turn up in gentlemen's bedrooms in the middle of the night? If I'd known that, I would have campaigned harder to make sure Charlotte let you stay." I didn't let on that I'd been in favor of Tessa remaining all along.

"I don't see how what I do is your concern, especially since you abandoned me in the corridor and left me to find my own way back to my room." I enjoyed her look of indignation, and as my eyes moved away, I felt mildly chastised by Jem's raised eyebrows.

"And you found your way to Jem's room instead?"

"It was the violin. She heard me practicing." Jem was giving me a look that made me feel as if he didn't wholly approve of my teasing.

"Ghastly wailing noise, isn't it? I don't know how all the cats in the neighbourhood don't come running every time he plays." I winked at Jem.

"I thought it was pretty," Tessa responded with her nose in the air.

"That's because it was," Jem added.

Pointing an unsteady finger in their direction, I remembered to slur my words. "You're ganging up on me. Is this how it's going to be from now on? I'll be odd man out? Dear God, I'll have to befriend Jessamine."

"Jessamine can't stand you."

"Henry, then." I didn't doubt that Henry would enjoy having a young man around, so that he would have someone to enthuse over his latest disastrous device. I also strongly suspected that he'd just simply enjoy having a young man around.

"Henry will set you on fire." Jem continued to respond in his calm, matter-of-fact way.

"Thomas..."

"Thomas—"

The banter was interrupted when Jem began coughing—which wasn't unusual, but then it became so intense that he fell to his knees and doubled over. I got to my feet immediately.

"James, where is it?" I said as I placed my hand on his shoulder. For all I understood and respected that he wanted to take the demon poison as little as possible—after all, it was slowly killing him— I was torn by not wanting to watch him suffer.

"I don't need it. I'm alright—" His protests were cut off by another fit of coughing, only this time he brought up blood.

I could still remember the last time few times it had been like this. They had been very hard nights for all of us. First there would be blood, then cold sweats and hallucinations. The increasing frequency with which it was happening was a reminder that Jem was only here on borrowed time. Sooner than we all hoped, we would all have to say goodbye to him.

"Where is it? Where did you put it?"

"On...on the mantel...in the box...the silver one..." Jem attempted to point it out, but he could barely lift his arm or breathe.

"I'll get it, then. Stay here."

"As if I'd go anywhere," Jem croaked.

Getting to my feet, it was then that I remembered that we weren't alone.

"Will, is there anything..." Tessa's voice was quiet and she seemed startled. She wasn't used to Jem's illness, and I could imagine that it would seem quite shocking to someone who didn't know the circumstances. I didn't want her coming to the wrong conclusions like many of the others from outside of the Institute.

I marched over and grabbed her arm. "Come with me." Pushing her out into the corridor, I then barred the entrance with my body. "Good night, Tessa."

"But he's coughing blood. Perhaps I should get Charlotte—"

"No." I looked back at Jem for a moment, and then spoke quietly, trying hard to reassure her that I had the situation under control. Charlotte would only panic—the Silent Brothers would probably be involved, and Jem wouldn't want that. "He has medicine. I'll get it for him. There's no need for Charlotte to know about this."

"But if he's ill—"

I thought hard about how to make her understand. Sometimes women just didn't understand a man's need to keep his weaknesses private.

"Please, Tessa. It would be better if you said nothing about it."

"I—" She stared back with large, concerned eyes, and paused for a moment. "All right."

Relieved, I let go of her shoulder that I didn't realize I'd grabbed in the first place. "Thank you." I quickly touched her cheek to show my gratitude, and then closed the door, watching her eyes disappear through the gap. Once closed, I bolted the door shut to keep everyone other than Jem and me out.

Jem was still crumpled on the floor and spluttering, so I walked over and put his arm round my shoulder, helping him into bed. He had blood smeared on his face and the back of his hand.

"I don't know. I find you covered in red lipstick with a strange woman in your bedroom—are you trying to get yourself a reputation?"

Jem managed a slight grimace, and after I'd covered him up, I headed to the silver box on the mantel.

"So, what do we feel like tonight? Demon powder tea, a little in cold water, or just by itself." My eyes looked around for the kettle we kept in the room, and found it by the hearth.

"You make terrible tea, Will. I'll have just a little in a glass of water. I could do with a drink," Jem managed to say between coughs.

"A glass of fire water it is then." I busied myself dissolving the tiniest amount of the strange smelling powder into a glass of water from the jug, and then brought it over to the bed. "Sit up. I'm not your maid servant."

Jem gave another almost-smile. "That's probably a good thing. You'd look horrendous in a dress."

"Actually, I look fabulous in a dress," I joked as handed over the glass and headed back to the jug and basin, dampening a face cloth and trying to ignore Jem's splutters between sips. I turned back to him with a cheerful face. "You on the other hand..."

As Jem finished the dregs of the glass, I took it from him and gave him the face cloth. He looked very tired and drained—weaker than I'd ever seen him.

"It depends. Some colors don't go with my complexion."

I chuckled, and then pulled up a chair to sit by the side of the bed, taking off my boots off before stretching out with my feet on a nearby chest of drawers.

Jem gave a deep breath, and already, the familiar signs of the powder entering his system started. It was as if I'd just removed the weight of the world from his shoulders.

When we were younger, and before I'd really understood what was happening to Jem, I'd always looked forward to the days when he'd had his fix—he was stronger, bolder, and more like me. I hadn't realized that the reason for the lift in mood in my usually calm and quiet friend was because of the evil substance running through his bloodstream.

Once I did, it made me wonder what it was inside me that made me behave the way I did, as I didn't have the excuse of an addiction to demon poison. The only reason I could think of was that I was just an innately bad person—some people were just born that way. I'd never been a good child—I'd always been mischievous and gone against my parents' wishes...and look where that had gotten me.

Not that I felt like trawling over my own situation again for the second time in one night. Jem's experiences had been infinitely worse than mine, and he bore it without complaint.

I looked over at his face as it relaxed and seemed instantly younger. Jem was now smiling, and lay there with his eyes closed, the bloody flannel on the bedside cabinet and the red droplets on the floor were the only evidence that he'd been less than fine the whole night.

"Will..." Jem's voice sounded unearthly, as it often did at these times.

"Yes, Jem."

"What do you think of Tessa?"

"I think she seems perfectly fine...for a downworlder. Asks far too many questions, though."

"I think so, too. About her being fine—not the questions. Do you think she'll stay for a while?"

"Who knows? I guess that it depends on how long it takes to sort this whole situation out. I daresay that she'll be sick of the sight of me by the end of the week."

Jem gave a quiet, half=hearted giggle. "Probably." His voice sounded as if he was on the verge of falling asleep and so I shuffled in my seat to try and get a little more comfortable.

I looked over at the fire in the corner of the room, and thought about the events of the evening—somehow, the memories didn't seem quite so hurtful after witnessing what had happened to Jem. His predicament reminded me that there was always someone worse off.

I wondered if all orphans cared for by Institutes all over the world were this broken. Jem, Jessamine, and myself—we were all dysfunctional or damaged in our own ways, though you could not blame Jem, as it had come about through no fault of his own.

At some point, I must have eventually drifted off to sleep, because I shook myself awake to find that I was drooling on my hand and grey light was starting to find its way through the curtains. I stretched and my back and neck suddenly protested at my twisted overnight resting position.

Jem on the bed, however, looked positively glowing as he slept. Satisfied that he was now fit and well, I decided that it would be for the best if I had a few more hours in my own bed. Grabbing the dried up facecloth, I cleaned up the dried blood spots from the floor and popped the cloth in my coat pocket, which I quickly flung over my arm, holding my boots in my hand.

Unbolting the door, I tiptoed through the quiet Institute. With a yawn and running my fingers through my hair, I turned into the corridor that led to my room. Opening my eyes, I almost ran into Sophie, already started on her chores for the day, though I doubted it was much past six in the morning.

Her eyes looked me up and down, and she scowled. "You disgust me, Will Herondale."

Puzzled, I asked, "What?"

Sophie did not look back as she stormed past, and then it dawned on me what she more than likely thought I'd been doing. With a chortle, I opened the door to my room and walked inside.

Well, at least I had an alibi for the night.


	5. Chapter 5 Strange Earth

**Clockwork Heart**

**By Leanne Golightly**

**I do not own the Infernal Devices series or any of its characters. This is just for fun. Everything shadowhunter belongs to the talented Cassandra Clare. No copyright infringement intended.**

This chapter is probably going to be more of a collection of drabbles to get me through a number of points in the next chapter or so.

_5. Strange Earth_

A few hours later, I headed downstairs to breakfast. Though I was still tired, I didn't doubt that Agatha could nurse me back to health with a couple of fried eggs and a sausage.

When I reached the dining room, Charlotte, Henry, and Jessamine were all there and silent for once. This made me slightly suspicious, though not suspicious enough to keep me from a hearty Full English.

"Has anyone spoken to Tessa this morning?" I asked.

"Don't speak with your mouth full, Will. It's terribly rude." Jessamine scowled at me. "And no, I haven't seen her yet. Though, she could be disguised as anyone around this table this very moment, couldn't she?"

Jessamine chewed at the tip one of her fingernails, and then looked around as if she was playing a game and it was her turn to find the shape shifter.

"Speaking of Tessa, we need to decide what we are to do with her." Charlotte obviously had her authoritative head on today, so she wasn't Tessa. "I trust that there are no objections to her staying here for a while?"

"I think having her stay would be a marvellous idea. I've never known a Downworlder with her specific talent. It would be good to have a chance to study her and find out a little more." Yes—definitely Henry.

"Heavens, Henry. She's a—" I stopped myself before I could say human being. "She's a warlock, probably—not a science project."

"Do you really think she's a warlock? Why hasn't she got a mark? Maybe she's part fey?"

Henry and Jessamine began a debate about Tessa's heritage, and though I listened, I busied myself with a second plate of bacon and eggs.

Once we heard footsteps in the hall, the entire table fell silent again. Tessa entered wearing the delightful red dress again.

"We were just talking about you," Jessamine decided to inform our guest.

Charlotte gave a brief explanation, concentrating more on the initial discussion of the idea of her staying. In the end, it was decided that she would reside at the Institute while we finished investigating the Pandemonium Club.

"Will, today I'd like you to revisit the site of the Dark Sisters' house. It's abandoned now, but it's still worth a final search. And I want you to take Jem with you—"

How could Jem accompany me after the state he was in last night? "Is he well enough?"

"He is quite well enough. In fact, he's ready when you are." Jem had silently entered the room, and he was the picture of health—well, as close as he ever got with his demon poisoned body.

"You should have some breakfast first." I was glad to see that Charlotte had some concern for him. "Oh, Jem—this is Miss Gray. She's—"

Jem smiled at Tessa. "We've met."

"You have?" Charlotte asked.

Tessa's cheeks turned a shade of red that rivalled her dress. I felt a little on edge, wondering if she was going to say anything about the nature of her first meeting with my friend. It was Jem that answered.

"I encountered Tessa in the corridor last night and introduced myself. I think I may have given her something of a fright."

Feeling relieved, I returned to devouring the food remaining on my plate as the others discussed their plans for the day. It seemed that Charlotte and Henry were going to pay Tessa's brother's employer a visit, and Jessamine was determined that she was going to play dress up with her new Tessa doll.

"I think you ought to let me take poor Tessa into town to get some new clothes. Otherwise, the first time she takes a deep breath, that dress will fall right off her."

"I think she should try that out now and see what happens." My suggestion flustered Tessa somewhat. I awarded myself another mouthful of bacon as a reward for my wit.

It seemed that Jessamine was determined to have her way.

I leaned past Tessa and her too-tight bodice towards Jem. "Should we leave now?"

"I need to finish my tea first," he replied. "Anyway, I don't see what you're so fired up about. You said the place hadn't been used as a brothel in ages."

"I want to be back before dark." I was hoping that tonight's walk might be a bit more productive, and I'd already planned a route through the more bawdy areas of London. "I have an assignation in Soho this evening with a certain attractive someone." Whoever that might be.

"Goodness, if you keep seeing Six-Fingered Nigel like this, he'll expect you to declare your intentions."

Jem choked into his cup of tea.

Touché, Tessa. Touché.

~X~

"You know, this isn't at all what I thought a brothel would look like," Jem said as he looked up at the Dark House.

"What were you imagining exactly, James? Ladies of the night waving from the balconies? Nude statues adorning the entranceway?" I replied sarcastically—though it had to be said, I would prefer it if brothels were more like that.

"I suppose I was expecting something that looked a bit less drab."

He was right. Brothels generally weren't the most pleasant looking of places—at least not in my price range—but the Dark House was probably one of the worst.

Once inside, we found nothing but darkness and beetles in the hallway.

"Nice place to live, isn't it?" Tessa had definitely traded up by finding a place to stay in the Institute. "Let's hope they left something behind other than filth. Forwarding addresses, a few severed limbs, a prostitute or two..." I wiggled my eyebrows at Jem.

"Indeed. Perhaps, if we're fortunate, we can still catch syphilis." It was Jem's turn to be sarcastic.

"Or demon pox. There's always demon pox." Chances were, in a place like this, that would be the thing we were most likely to catch. As usual, Jem denied the existence of the disease in question, but he did not convince me. I'd heard about it from a reliable source.

Walking through the corridors, I was reminded of when I'd rescued Tessa from this depressing place. I entered her former bedroom—it was completely empty, but I could remember the image of a wild-eyed Tessa as she attacked me with a piece of pottery.

In another room we finally found something—and what a_ something_ she was. At first we thought she was dead, but it turned out that she was a clockwork girl, sent to leave us a message.

"Beware, Nephilim. As you slay others, so shall you be slain. Your angel cannot protect you against that which neither God nor the devil has made—an army born neither of Heaven or Hell. Beware the hand of man. Beware." Then she exploded in a rather impressive manner.

It seemed that any girl that I'd come across in the Dark House had more to them than met the eye. Bearing that in mind, I almost wished I'd visited while it had still been operational.

~X~

Once we returned to the Institute, we were immediately greeted by an enthusiastic Henry who took the mechanical girl down to his laboratory. Not wanting to witness his macabre autopsy, I decided to seat myself in the dining room in advance of dinner.

For my efforts, I earned a particularly vicious stare from Sophie as she asked Jem if he would help light the gasoliers for her. Ever the gentleman, he obliged.

I chuckled to myself at her obvious flirting. Sophie never asked for help with anything unless Jem was around. It was amusing to see the difference in the way she reacted to the two of us.

Jessamine, of course, complained that a gentleman shouldn't be doing such things, and then when I decided that the gasolier was hanging crooked and climbed on the sideboard to fix it, she ran off, only to return with Charlotte, Henry, and Tessa. I hadn't realised that straightening a light was a spectator sport.

She continued her whining, until I noticed a patch of vivid red on her arm.

"Is that blood on your sleeve, Jessie?"

Jessamine stormed off...and then Henry demonstrated a device that did the opposite of what it was supposed to and plunged the room into darkness.

"Am I blind? I'm not going to be at all pleased if you've blinded me, Henry."

Jem laughed at my comment.

Once Charlotte came to our rescue and used her witchlight—and I had destroyed half of the crockery as I fell off the sideboard—dinner was finally served.

Sitting next to Jessamine, I decided to press her about how she had managed to go clothes shopping with the mysterious Tessa and come home bloodied. Jessamine wasn't one for getting dirty at the best of times, and was certainly not one for going anywhere more dangerous than a linen shop during a sale.

Whatever had happened she was determined not to say, which spoke volumes to me. Where had she and Tessa been that day? I theorized as I spooned peas onto my plate.

It was then that Sophie came and spoke to Charlotte, and Charlotte hurried away. After a while she returned.

"There is someone here who wants to speak with you, Tessa."

"With _me_?" Tessa was surprised and obviously not expecting any visitors.

"Well, who is it? Must you keep us all in suspense?" I asked.

"It's Lady Belcourt. She's downstairs, in the Sanctuary Room."

"Now? Did something happen?" I wondered why she could possibly want to see Tessa. Camille Belcourt was an old vampire—I was sure she didn't personally come calling on shadowhunters just to see a shape shifter do parlour tricks.

Charlotte had contacted her about De Quincy, so it seemed, and the local Downworlders had already caught wind of Tessa's existence.

"Who is Lady Belcourt?" She turned to Jem. "Is she a shadowhunter?"

"She's a vampire—a vampire _informant_, actually," he replied. "She gives information to Charlotte and keeps us apprised of what's going on in the Night community."

Despite everyone assuring her that she didn't have to meet the vampire, it seemed that Tessa's curiosity had been piqued—and I was all too aware of what curiosity could do.

"Don't you even want to know what she wants from you?"

I stared at her and she stared back.

"Aside from the Dark Sisters, I've never really met another Downworlder. I think—that I would like to."

God save us from curious women. Not only was she full of painful questions that hit a little too close to the mark, but she seemed to willingly attract danger. Certainly, earlier today, she'd obviously managed to lead Jessamine into a situation that she would never have gotten into on her own.

"Tessa—," Jem started, but she was already leaving the room behind Charlotte.

I debated whether to leave the table and follow. When Jem made a move I was right by his side.


	6. Chapter 6 Camille

**Clockwork Heart**

**By Leanne Golightly**

**I do not own the Infernal Devices series or any of its characters. This is just for fun. Everything shadowhunter belongs to the talented Cassandra Clare. No copyright infringement intended.**

Sorry for the delay—I loaned my friend my copy of Clockwork Angel, and without it, I didn't have the original chapter to work from. Now I do, and I'm back on it.

_6. Camille_

_I was here courtesy of an invitation from a rich idiot who thought I went to Oxford with him. All it had taken was a tie and a silly handshake, learned by observing Rupert from a distance over a week or so, and now I was in the Pandemonium Club._

_It wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped. In fact, I was going to have to report that everything was reasonably above board...unfortunately. Nothing but a bunch of privileged mundanes sitting down for a social evening with a few civilized downworlders._

_Rupert pointed to a table in the corner of the room and whispered, "You really must have a game of cards. Supernatural, they may be, but they're useless gamblers. I won forty pounds the last time was here."_

_I smiled. How many times had I heard that statement in establishments like this? They would allow him to win until he felt over-confident enough to wager large sums of money, and then they'd leave him penniless and destitute. Still...nothing that wouldn't happen in any similar mundane establishment, and therefore, not a breach of the Accords._

_I only intended on visiting once, so I'd take the offending downworlders' money and scarper. It equated to natural justice in my mind._

"_Sounds like great fun. Lead on." I wrinkled my brow. "Where do I purchase some chips for the game?" _

_This might be where my cover was blown—my funds were minimal, to say the least, and I didn't doubt that Charlotte would refuse an excessive claim for expenses, especially if it was gambled away._

_Without pausing, Rupert pulled out a bag and put a number of disks of various colours in my hands. The evening was definitely looking up—it had to be said._

_Following behind my redheaded "school chum," I tried to ignore the glances that came my way. And who could blame them? I was much more attractive than my companion and no doubt, subconsciously, my Shadowhunter nature made me stand out._

_It wasn't easy being me. I chuckled as we arrived at the table._

"_Please, do you mind if we join you?" Rupert asked in his distinctive accent. He had a rather unfortunate lisp. I imagined that he wasn't used to being so low in the social food chain, and I could see why some downworlders would condescend to enjoy an evening of flattery from the elite of the human world._

_Seven pairs of eyes glanced up at me. Four of them human, one warlock—he was betrayed by the blue crest, like a hen's, on the top of his head, and two vampires. One of the vampires, a female with vivid green eyes, smirked and licked her lips._

"_By all means. So nice to see you again, Rupert. Although I hope that this time, you will leave some money in our pocket books."_

"_Lady Belcourt..." Rupert leaned forward and kissed her hand._

"_Who is your friend?" the warlock asked. His face was stern—which was rather ridiculous given that his impressive comb wobbled as he spoke._

"_Master William Herondale, Sir. I must say how very honoured I am to be here this evening—"_

"_Sit down."_

_Obviously, he'd heard enough mundanes fawning over him for one night. I did as he requested and waited for the cards to be dealt. _

_It did not escape me that I had a pair of green eyes trained on me the whole time, as they looked across at me over the top of her hand of cards. Lady Camille Belcourt—she was one of Charlotte's informants, and I had heard her name many times. This was the first occasion that I'd been able to meet her personally. _

_It didn't take long before Rupert was left as poor as I had been when we'd first entered the establishment. He stood up, his face somewhere between white and green as he considered the amount that he had just lost, and as he steadied himself, he bent down to whisper in my ear._

"_You're doing significantly better than me. Make sure you win well, Will—I'm going to need the chips I initially loaned you to...settle some debts."_

_I nodded my agreement and went back to my cards, smirking at the towers of chips I had before me. It had to be said that I left that table a wealthy man; there was something to be said for pretending to be just a regular human tampering with the occult. _

_Rupert was in a chair with his head in his hands, but his mood brightened instantly when I furnished him with a rather large pile of chips—much more than he'd supplied me with in the beginning._

"_So how do I go about turning these into gin?" I asked in good humour._

_Rupert enthusiastically led me into another room, and directly to the bar. It didn't take long until I had a glass in my hand and my companion became much more entertaining, living it up like the future lord that he was. Not wanting to expose myself for a fraud, the only logical thing I could do was to join him. Although, I wisely avoided the brightly-coloured downworlder cocktails and stuck to what I knew._

_Gin...and lots of it._

_As I knew my winnings would be taken off me as soon as I stepped across the threshold of the Institute, I managed to make myself rather popular with mundanes and downworlders alike by making sure everyone's glasses were full of whatever their poison was._

_I was sitting in a chair when the crowd around me parted, and Lady Camille Belcourt gracefully approached._

"_Congratulations, Mr. Herondale. I see that your winnings are being put to good use." As she spoke, the regular humans around me stared at her in dumbfounded awe. Outwardly, I made sure that I reacted accordingly, although instead of the vampire beauty, I saw a woman that should have been dead a long time ago._

_Demons. That was the one thing that all downworlders had in common, and the reason why I despised them. Vampires and werewolves were mundanes infected by a demon disease, and Warlocks came from both human and demon parents—their often useful powers came from their demon side. Even the fey...they were part-angel, like myself, but their demon side made them cruel and not to be trusted._

_I might be flawed, but a demon was something I was not. What had happened to Cecily left me with the desire for revenge—I was here to eradicate and police. The only exception to my rule was Jem, and that was because he was an innocent victim. He was another Cecily._

_As Lady Belcourt threw me a suggestive smile, I got to my feet, but her aesthetics didn't tempt me for a second. When she linked her arm through mine and asked me to take a turn about the room with her, I made sure that I didn't recoil...and I was as charming as I knew how to be._

_I knew what she wanted, but allowing vampires to bite me was something that William Herondale didn't do. _I _was the one that did the biting. While she courted me, I feigned interest, and looked around the room for Rupert, who it seemed had inadvertently turned himself a lovely shade of bright pink and was begging a warlock to assist him._

_I left him to it. Before Lady Belcourt could lead me into a dark corner to have her wicked way, I made my apologies and escaped, smiling at the look of indignation on the vampire beauty's face._

~X~

As Jem and I caught up with Tessa and Charlotte, Tessa was being her usual curious self.

"Is it a curse, being a vampire?"

Charlotte shook her head. "No. We think it is a sort of demon disease. Most diseases that affect demons are not transmissible to human beings, but in some cases, usually through a bite or a scratch, the disease can be passed on. Vampirism. Lycanthropy—"

"Demon pox..." I had to add my two penn'orth.

"Will, there' s no such thing as demon pox and you know it." Charlotte scolded. "Now, where was I?"

What followed from there was a theoretical debate about damnation, with the conclusion that Tessa, Jem, and I shouldn't discuss our theories with Lady Belcourt. To be fair, I thought that my belief that there was nothing beyond this life might sit well with her, but I was resolved to be on my very best behaviour.

There was a first time for everything.

As we stepped into the unconsecrated Sanctuary, we found Lady Belcourt sitting in one of the black armchairs, as well dressed as the first time we'd met. It briefly crossed my mind that she must have been a sight to be seen when she was alive.

I saw the moment when she recognized me. Shock briefly flickered in her green eyes, no doubt as she understood that I'd been an incognito Shadowhunter. Then she recovered, eyeing me slightly—I could imagine that she'd not forgiven my ungentlemanly disappearance before I'd even offered her a drink.

Charlotte made the introductions. "Lady Belcourt, please let me introduce you to Miss. Theresa Gray. Beside her is Mr. James Carstairs, one of our young Shadowhunters, and with him is—"

"William Herondale." Lady Belcourt smiled. "Fancy you coming to greet me."

"You know each other?" Charlotte was astonished—obviously, she didn't know the social circles that I moved in.

As it was, my ill-gotten gains came to light, and Charlotte was less than impressed.

"Will, that money you won was evidence. You should have given it to the Clave."

"I spent it on gin," I said honestly.

"Will!"

I shrugged and prepared my straight face. "The spoils of vice are a burdensome responsibility."

"Yet one you seem strangely able to bear." See, I could always rely on Jem to ease my ego by pointing out my strengths. We exchanged a grin.

Lady Belcourt discussed the Pandemonium Club and De Quincey's involvement. She seemed very keen to elaborate on how dangerous he was and his dislike of the Nephilim and the Accords.

Jem leaned in toward me and whispered to me. "I get the feeling that a certain someone is a little fonder of our kind." I had regaled him with the tale of my experiences of my first meeting with Lady Belcourt, and it seemed that he'd noticed the way she was looking at me.

With a smirk, I responded out loud. "Indeed. How could anyone despise us when we are so charming?"

De Quincey's pretence was confirmed, and Lady Belcourt also informed us that the Dark Sisters catered for the darker interests of the Pandemonium Club. However, she knew nothing of the automatons.

It seemed that the catalyst for her sudden imparting of this information...was Tessa, and she'd seen Tessa's brother at the Pandemonium Club. Despite the look of desperation on Tessa's face for more news, Lady Belcourt began discussing the parties that De Quincy held at his town house.

Parties where mundanes were tortured and killed.

"But the murder of humans by the Night Children is forbidden under the Law—" I pointed out.

"And de Quincy despises the Law..." Lady Belcourt drawled.

Charlotte had the tight-lipped grimace that only appeared when she was barely holding back furious anger—I was very familiar with that expression. "How long has this been going on, Camille?"

Apparently, it had been going on some time, and Lady Belcourt, was unwilling to put her own "life" on the line to assist us. For the Clave to take action, we would need to witness these wrongdoings ourselves.

Needless to say, we weren't expecting an invite any time soon.

Jem stepped forward. "Lady Belcourt, if you pardon my asking, what is it exactly that you want from Tessa?" If it was my job to ask the impertinent questions, then I guessed intelligent questions were my friend's forte.

It seemed that Lady Belcourt had an invite...which she would gladly pass on to our shape-shifting guest providing she could create a convincing disguise. It was an excellent plan. Not only could we witness de Quincy breaking the Accords, but we could search for evidence of his mechanical experiments.

Tessa, however, did not seem as keen on the idea. "_Will,_ I don't—"

"I would go with you. I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

"Will, no. You and Tessa alone in a house full of vampires? I forbid it." Charlotte's lack of faith stung a little.

"Then who would you send in with her, if not me? You know I can protect her, and you know I'm the right choice—"

Charlotte refused to entertain reason. "_I _could go...or Henry—"

Lady Belcourt, however, did see the logic in my plan. "I'm afraid I agree with William. The only individuals admitted to these parties are de Quincy's close friends, vampires, and the human subjugates of vampires. De Quincy has seen Will before, passing as a mundane fascinated by the occult. He won't be surprised to find that he's graduated to vampiric servitude."

So de Quincy had been there. Lady Belcourt was right—almost everyone attending would have seen the attention she lavished on me. For me to turn up as her subjugate wouldn't surprise anyone. No doubt it would save her face after my rejection, too.

"Most of the rest of the Enclave wouldn't be able to pass convincingly as a handsome young human subjugate—"

"Because the rest of us all are hideous, are we?" Jem smiled, but I noticed an edge behind his humour. "Is that why I can't do it?"

"No. You know why it can't be you." The essence of demon flowed through his blood; it was impossible to hide the effect it had on his body.

Jem stared at me and I tried to read his expression. He looked worried. For me? He knew I was more than capable of looking after myself. Disappointment? That confused me, too—Jem wasn't exactly a social butterfly, and I doubted that he'd regret missing a party.

He shrugged and looked away.

The next party would take place on Saturday. Driven by the possibility that her brother, or someone that might know what had happened to him, Tessa blindly agreed to the plan.

"Have you ever changed yourself into a Downworlder? Do you even know if it's something that would be possible?" I asked.

"I could try." She turned to the vampire who was watching the exchange in interest. "Could I have something of yours? A ring, or a handkerchief, perhaps."

Jem passed Lady Belcourt's necklace across to Tessa. As she held it in her hand, she closed her eyes and took a sharp breath. For a moment, she concentrated. Tessa's brown hair tumbled into a cascade of pale blonde, her chest inflated and threatened to spill out of her dress at any moment—much to my delight, and her face became an exact facsimile of Lady Belcourt's, who looked like the cat that had gotten the cream.

Her double, Tessa in Camille's form, panicked and then slumped back into one of the armchairs, grasping at her chest and looking distinctly ill, even for a vampire double.

"Tessa?" Jem went to her side.

"Oh, God. I—my heart's not beating. I feel as if I've died, Jem."

He stroked her hand, and for some bizarre reason, the concern he was showing our visitor bothered me. Jem whispered something and I looked away.

Once Tessa composed herself, she shook off her artificial form and the warlock was back. One thing was sure—she would need to practice until she could pass herself off as the cool, calm, and confident Camille Belcourt.

It seemed that we would have assistance in the form of Magnus Bane, Lady Belcourt's warlock lover, who was familiar with the de Quincy town house. Her candidness about the nature of their relationship obviously shocked Tessa, and I struggled to hide my amusement at her reaction.

"If someone will escort me out. It grows late, and I have not yet fed." Lady Belcourt smirked, and part of me wondered whether I was her escort of choice—and if she was considering claiming the drink she obviously felt that I owed her.

As it was, Charlotte sent both Jem and myself. The look of disappointment on the vampire's face told me that she wouldn't try anything against two Shadowhunters.

**Author's Note: I won't duplicate Will's POV of escorting Lady Belcourt out of the Institute, as that was elaborated on in the book. Therefore, I will point you that way if you want reminding of what happened. Cheers, me dears.**


End file.
